


Hard to Love

by Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Avoiding their feelings, Drabble one shot, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt John Watson, Idiots in Love, Insecure John, Insecure Sherlock, Just Quotes and Lyrics, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, casefic, not really a song fic, random song lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle/pseuds/Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes knew he was not a good man. He was needy, he was insensitive, he never though about anybody except himself.<br/>Until him.<br/>A man so perfect, so amazing... John Watson was a true saint. Sherlock had given him every reason to leave, and yet he stayed.<br/>Sherlock Holmes would be lost without his blogger.<br/>In the end, that would always be his excuse for not telling John.<br/>He couldn't lose him.<br/>Not again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Love

**Author's Note:**

> For my bæ, who isn't even on this site, but I love you babe. Enjoy!  
> Anything in bold/italics are quotes. All credit goes to their respective writers. Title is from the song "Hard to Love" by Lee Brice

**_I'm hard to love, hard to love, oh_ **

**_I don't make it easy_ **

**_I couldn't do it if I stood where you stood..._ **

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes knew he was not a good man. He was needy, he was insensitive, he never though about anybody except himself. He knew it, yes, but he didn't know how to change it. How do you change someone's personality? Their ingrown lessons of life?

Like that one he'd always referred to so as to get out of uncomfortable, _people concerned_ situations.

_Highly functioning sociopath indeed._

He knew his self diagnoses was wrong, but it was easier than making the effort. People... People confused Sherlock Holmes.

Until him.

A man so perfect, so amazing... John Watson was a true saint. Sherlock had given him every reason to leave, and yet he stayed.

And stayed.

And stayed.

Sherlock had done things no one else would have forgiven, shown John things no one should ever see. He'd _died_ right in front of the man, and yet... He continued to forgive him.

To stay.

Take him back, run after him, take care of him.

Follow him anywhere.

He would, wouldn't he?

Follow him.

Anywhere.

**_Don't go where I can't follow...._ **

Was that what love was?

Sherlock had long known he was in love with John Watson. Since before his fall... Probably even since the first case. When John had killed someone for him without hesitation.

And then the Moriarty fiasco happened, and Sherlock had jumped to his "death", and he hadn't had time to tell him.

He'd never had time.

Not that he wanted too...

But sometimes, in particularly bad times, when Sherlock was half-certain he was about to die...

He almost wished he had.

Despite everything.

Despite John's constant reiteration of " _I'm not gay._ "

Despite his doubts, he still wished.

The rational part of his mind knew John would never love him back.

The closed off, horribly unnourished part of his mind made of sentiment didn't care.

But he would never act on the irrational sentiment.

It would never be returned.

No matter what it was he wanted.

Because John Watson was perfect.... And he would never like someone as imperfect, as hidden, as _wrong_ as Sherlock Holmes.

But that was why he needed his blogger, wasn't it? Because he kept him right.

**_You, John Watson. You keep me right._ **

* * *

John Watson sometimes wondered how the hell he put up with his ridiculous flatmate.

Between the experiments in the fridge and the fingers on the dinner table and the inability to do anything for himself... It was a little ridiculous.

And then, of course, was his lack of social knowledge. Namely, his disrespect for that little idea called "personal space".

John Watson had been hiding his serious attraction to his best friend for years.

After meeting Sherlock, he had immediately thought the man attractive, but after he was rebuffed he consented to just be friends.

But Sherlock Holmes had managed to wiggle his way into every nook and cranny of John Watson's life, and John had fallen hard.

He hadn't realized just how hard he had fallen until the man had died.

**_Only know you love her when you let her go..._ **

**_And you let her go..._ **

John had taken the other man's death hard. He had never truly moved on from his attraction to Sherlock, despite all the girls he had brought home.

But it wasn't until Sherlock died that he realized just how much he relied on the man to keep him sane, how much he had relied on him to be there as a stable condition. A danger of the very best kind.

How much he had loved him.

And that was really the reason why he had never really moved on after Sherlock. He'd stayed at 221B Baker Street, constantly talked to Greg about cases, and didn't go on any more dates after that.

When Sherlock came back, though, he was as mad as hell.

He had wanted to punch him and kiss him and _kill him_.

All at the same time.

He settled for punching him, just looking at him, and then making tea.

How he had hated the little bastard just then. And how he had wanted to kiss him.

But he knew it wouldn't be smart.

If he kissed Sherlock, everything was over, because he couldn't possibly feel the same way John did about him... There was no hope. None at all.

**_I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and though I am flattered by your interest..._ **

Yeah, Sherlock had made it pretty clear he wasn't interested in John.

But John had fallen hard for the wanker... Harder than he'd ever thought he could.

* * *

It had started with a case. Nothing abnormal, a regular murder victim. It wasn't Moriarty, it wasn't Charles A. Magnussen. It was just a killer, and a case, and a dead women.

So how had it gone so horrifically wrong?

He hadn't foreseen this.

He could never have foreseen this.

It was all his fault.

A man, a gun pointed at Sherlock, and... He'd been pushed out of the way as it was fired.

 _John_.

Stupid, brave, idiot.

 _Hero_.

He'd pushed Sherlock out of the way in order to save him.

Sherlock felt despair well up inside of him. All they had done, all they had accomplished for the good of others... It would never be enough compared to what Sherlock hadn't.

He'd only felt like this once before, seconds before confronting Sebastian Moran and knowing that only one of them was going to make it out alive. And while he'd had every confidence it was going to be him until then, he'd felt the uncertainty well up inside him, and he truly had regretted never telling John how much he'd meant to Sherlock.

Three words, eight letters, and yet so impossible to say.

**_La Douleur Exquize {French} _ **

**_The heart-wrenching pain of_ **

**_wanting someone you can't have._ **

It hurt, so badly did it hurt, that Sherlock would never have John the way he wanted to. But looking at the blank hospital walls, waiting for the doctor - not his doctor - to resurface, the only things he felt were guilt and regret.

Guilt, because _John had taken a bullet for him_.

Regret, because _if John - NO_!

He would not let himself think that way.

Because Sherlock Holmes would be lost without his blogger.

In the end, that would always be his excuse for not telling John.

He couldn't lose him.

Not again.

Those two years on the run, tracking down Moriarty's men...

There were times when all he'd wanted to do was return home.

To what was his.

But then he'd remember what he was doing this for.

He would not put John in that kind of danger, not for his own selfishness.

If John had died at the hands of Moriarty's men because Sherlock had caved, even for a day...

He'd almost done it.

Numerous times, he'd almost thrown in the towel and returned home.

He'd once gone so far as to actually dial John's phone number, but had hung up after John said hello. Sherlock had just needed to hear that one word. Just that one word, to remind him why he was fighting.

_Two months in Serbia._

_Four in Ukraine._

_One in Paris._

_Five months of cold hard winter spent in Russia._

_Three in Pakistan._

_Two memorable months in the United States of America._

_Three more long months in Budapest._

_The final five, spent chasing Sebastian Moran across the world._

_And then, suddenly, he was done. He was able to return home._

_And Sherlock Holmes had never been more scared in his life._

That was months ago.

John had taken him back, regardless of his worries.

Sure, he'd punched him when he'd first seen him, but truthfully... Sherlock had deserved that one.

And probably also the one that followed.

So it was worth it.

He had John back.

And that was all that mattered.

But now... He may as well be losing John all over again.

And that was possibly the worst thing he'd ever known.

He'd worked so hard to get back to John, to live so he could see him again, and now... John may be gone permanently.

And that scared him so, so much.

There was no life for Sherlock Holmes without his blogger.

**_After all, I'd be lost without my blogger._ **

* * *

Surgery took three hours, forty three minutes, and twenty one seconds.

Sherlock had counted every single one.

It had only been three hours, but it might as well have been forever.

The minutes stretched on countlessly, made constantly worse by silence all around him.

John, so close and yet so far.

Separated only by a door, and yet by so much more.

Worse by anxiety and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

It was driving Sherlock mad. Absolutely _insane_ with the loudness of it.

He couldn't take it for so much longer.

He was going to go insane.

Finally, finally, the doctor came out with the news that John was going to be fine, nothing major had been hit thankfully, but they had needed to take extra precautions so as to not damage anything further.

Sherlock didn't care. He'd stopped listening after _Doctor Watson is going to be fine, Mr. Holmes, but_ -.

John was going to be okay. He was going to fine.

"When can I see him?"

The doctor smiled. "He's stable now. You can go as soon as you wan-"

Sherlock was already gone.

**_Our love's the only truth,_ **

**_That's why I run to you._ **

* * *

John woke to the familiar haze of pain relievers and an underlying pain in his stomach.

_What happened?_

There had been a murder, that much he could remember.

The guy.... He'd tried to shoot Sherlock.

John remembered now... He had thrown himself in front of Sherlock, so he wouldn't be hurt.

Sherlock... Where was he?

Not in the room with John, that was obvious.

Had he even come? Did he even care that John was in the hospital?

**_Sentiment is a chemical defect,_ **

**_found in the losing side._ **

Was that why Sherlock wasn't here?

Did he honestly not care-

"John!" _Well. Never mind then. Wait. Is he..._

"Sherlock. Were you hurt?"

Sherlock looks taken aback for a second, then confused, then his face clears.

"No. Of course not. How are you... Feeling, John?"

 _Oh, God, he looks so out of place. Has he really never seen me in-_ Of course not.Because John always took care to patch himself up, and he'd never gotten hurt to this degree before.

He searched his best friend's face carefully, and saw something he'd only seen once before, in Baskerville.

 _Oh my god... He was scared. For me. Sherlock Holmes was scared for me dying_.

"John..."

Oh, God, he wanted to kiss him so badly. So badly.

"Sherlock. Did we get him?"

Sherlock smiled. That special smile, the one John knew was reserved specially for him.

"Yes, John. Gavin and his band of imbeciles have him. But John.... You shouldn't have done that, you got hurt on my account, if something happened to you... I could never live with myself, John, you are too important to me, to the work, if I ever lost you...."

He was stumbling over his words, for once not the smooth, collected Sherlock he was normally. He faltered, and John reached out, stopping him.

"Sherlock, it was my choice. I couldn't stand you being hurt; and it's not like I haven't been shot before, right?"

"But you should never have to go through that again! That's why you shouldn't have done it! Don't you understand, John? I need you! I lov-"

He stopped. He'd said too much.

**_Funny how the heart can be so deceiving,_ **

**_more than just a couple times..._ **

"Sherlock."

John's voice was gentle, as though he was talking to a wounded animal. He talked slowly and calmly, but on the inside his heart was racing; Sherlock couldn't have been about to say what he thought he was about to say, could he?

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock froze.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line, I should not have said that. I understand if I went to far and you wish to leave, ( _no... Please no..._ ) although I would much prefer it if you would stay and we could remain as we were before-"

"No!" John burst out, and Sherlock's face flashed with hurt.

"Yes, of course, then if you would like to come and pick up your things I'd completely understand-"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP FOR A SECOND AND LET ME SPEAK?!"

"O-of course, John."

Sherlock had both mumbled and stuttered. Two things John had never heard the normally so collected detective do _ever_.

"Sherlock, what were you about to say? I need to know."

Sherlock blushed.

"John, I understand if you don't feel the same, but please, I do not want to go and embarrass myself more, it is completely unnecessary to make me-"

"Sherlock, why don't you finish your sentence before making false assumptions about the way I feel?"

Sherlock stared at him.

"You mean you..."

John smiled a little.

"Yes, you idiot. Now would you like to finish your sentence?"

**_There's so many things that I could say,_ **

**_But I'm sure it would come out all wrong._ **

**_You've got something that I can't explain,_ **

**_Still I try and try and let you know._ **

Sherlock surged forward, mindful of the bandages binding John's torso, and crushed their lips together. _Finally_.... He had wanted this for so long. The detective was so amazing, and yet unreachable.

But now, if Sherlock truly did feel the same... The detective would be his. This was something he'd only dreamed of. He'd never actually thought it would happen. Never had thought to hope that Sherlock could've felt the same. But here he was, kissing the man of his dreams, and it was better than he could have ever dreamed.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock opened his eyes, the iridescent orbs staring into John's grey eyes.

"John, I am sorry if that isn't what you meant..."

"You idiot." John chuckled, then stopped, mindful of his injuries. "You brilliant, brilliant idiot. Of course that's what I meant. Only, I think we should hold off on this until I can actually reciprocate without any pain, hmm?"

Sherlock nodded. He so badly wanted to curl up next to John, to lay down and forget the world ( _what world? He had his world. He had John. The center of his universe._ ) but John had still been shot. He was still in pain, and already the drugs were beginning to pull him under. Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's forehead, the smiled down at him.

"Sleep now, John. There is all the time in the world for us. But now you need your rest."

John smiled tiredly and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"And, Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."

* * *

**_...I'm hard to love, hard to love, oh,_ **

**_You say that you need me,_ **

**_I don't deserve it but I love that you love me, good._ **


End file.
